


unfinished au

by masaomi



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hangover, M/M, also future mckirk but who knows if i'll continue this, background spock/uhura if you put on rose-tinted glasses and squint so hard you can't see, jim is self-destructive, modern day AU, or it was supposed to be, this is literally nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masaomi/pseuds/masaomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the beginnings of a modern day mckirk au that i've had on my computer for over a year and never did anything with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unfinished au

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna do this whole big modern day mckirk au and i still might but i realized i suck at writing so here have this mess maybe i'll continue it for my enjoyment someday yolo. also i am literally incapable of writing anything over like 3 pages in word and i overuse the enter key.

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring._

James T. Kirk groaned and shifted in his bed, covering his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

_Ring --_

“God damn it,” he muttered, and rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow in a futile attempt to wish the noise away. 

_Ring._

_Ring, ring._

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Jim turned on his side and opened his eyes. He pushed himself into a sitting position and scratched his neck absently. 

_Ri --_

Abruptly, the infernal noise was silenced. “Thank God,” Jim muttered. Flopping back down onto his pillow, he sighed. 

_Peace at last._

“James.”

_Ah, never mind._

Jim laughed wryly and pinched his nose. “Spock, man, I really do not need this lecture right now -- it’s too early for you to start with this shit.” He attempted a smirk, face still being squished by the pillow. “But thanks for shutting that thing off.” He shuddered and rolled out of the bed, landing with a _thump_ on the carpeted floor.

“Ow.” Spock rolled his eyes.

“Your ability to take care of yourself, as you just proved, is at a slightly lower priority than I believe it should be.”

Jim pushed himself from the floor, then slowly stood. 

“You know, as hellish as that alarm clock is, I think I’d prefer it right now.” He stretched, lifting his arms, spine cracking and T-shirt riding up. 

Spock Grayson, meanwhile, stood in Jim’s doorway, hands clasped behind his back. “Jim-”

“Spock, I swear to god, I’m not kidding. If you start with this now, I will throw this pillow at your face and take away the key I gave you.” 

Spock closed his eyes and composed himself. “ _Jim_.” He breathed. “I merely came to make sure you were not too ill.”

Speaking of ill, the events of last night started trickling into Jim’s memory again. _Hell no. I am not thinking about this right now._

He shook his head, bent down, and began to rifle through the pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m still hungover; it’s fine.” 

Frowning, Spock looked off to the side, calculating. “Jim, for you still to be hungover at this hour, you must have consumed an abnormally large amount of beer--” 

Waving his hand distractedly, Jim hummed contently as he selected a shirt and lifted in the air. “It’s really none of your business. I was having an off day.”

“Ruth ended your relationship.” Jim grimaced.

“I don’t care about _her_.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t need her.” 

“So you decided to drown your _indifference_ at the bar.” Spock drew closer. “If I didn’t know you have such a high tolerance for alcohol, which in and of itself is concerning, I would tell you to head to the hospital to make sure your liver is still intact!” Jim turned his head away from his enraged friend and stayed silent.

Flaring his nostrils in exasperation, Spock spun toward the window and changed the subject abruptly. “You should dress in something warm. It’s quite cold out.” He cocked his head and peered outside. “Where is the Konglin family?” 

Jim glanced over and flapped his hand.

“Haven’t you heard? They’ve moved out. Some other family is moving in today.” He motioned toward the door. “C’mon, Spock, I’m getting dressed. Go make some hot chocolate or something in the kitchen, would you?” 

Spock creased his brow at the empty house, and then pivoted to face the door. “Of course, Jim.” Walking out of the room, he asserted, “However, we will speak more about your self-destructive habits.” 

“Yeah, yeah, not if I can distract you first,” Jim whispered under his breath. He pulled his shirt off, wincing at the phantom twinge. 

\-----------

Jim stumbled down the stairs to the sound of the microwave beeping. “Hey again, Spock.”

“I am in here, Jim,” Spock poked his head out of the doorframe leading to his living room.

Jim entered the kitchen and sat down, looking blearily around --

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_!” He shrieked and jumped up, nearly knocking over one of the chairs at his table. 

Nyota Uhura grinned and waggled her fingers. “Hey.”

Jim grasped at his heart. “ _Do you want to give me a coronary?_ ” Nyota’s grin widened.

Breathing deeply, he gripped the top of a chair and leaned over it. “ _Fuck_ , Spock, why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

“You needed a better wakeup call than hot chocolate.”

“I think,” Jim ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I’m awake now, _thanks_.” He sat down, bowing his head, and muttered, “I need a drink.”

Nyota punched Jim’s arm lightly. “Nuh-uh-uh, Jimmy. You see,” she inclined her head toward Spock. “This is exactly the reason Spock recommended I come over today.” 

Jim groaned. 

“I don’t want to hear the I-told-you-so today, please.” Nyota patted his shoulder. 

“No, no.” Her eyes sparked. “We’re going _shopping_.” As Jim’s mouth curled up mischievously, she quickly amended her statement. “ _My_ kind of shopping, you hick. That means no porn mags.”

Jim bounced his head on the table.

“Damn.” 

\-----------

“Food shopping?” Jim rolled his eyes. “How boring can you get?”

Nyota swatted his head gently. “We’re getting comfort food, genius.” She looked around, muttering. “Now, where can you do the least damage?” Spinning him slowly, she pointed him toward the ice cream aisle. “No booze, Kirk.”

“It’s the middle of January, Nyota. I’m not going to go buy _ice cream_.” 

“Suit yourself. Buy some sugary food, at least.” Turning, she walked away. “I’m going to see if I can find out where that idiot ran off to.” 

“He’s probably glaring holes in some chocolate somewhere,” Jim muttered. 

Spock claimed that chocolate gave his tongue a “peculiar feeling, which was not in the least pleasant”. (However, chocolate in a drink was fine, of course. Damn _foreigner_.)

Sighing, Jim headed toward the garishly colored stand with those miniature pie things in the cute little boxes. His head was beginning to feel like someone was riding a lawnmower through it. 

“Daddy, daddy!” Oh Jesus, kids and hangovers are the match made in hell. Jim grimaced and massaged his temple slightly, searching for the source of that _screech_. 

“Daddy!” She was adorable, though. “Daddy, they have that big, chunky ice cream here!” Jim wrinkled his brow at the less-than-tempting description. 

Chuckling suddenly as he realized she meant cookie dough ice cream, Jim started slightly as another, deeper voice intoned from just around the corner, sounding distracted and a little winded. 

“Jo, it’s January. You really want to buy ice cream in January?” Jim smirked, the man’s voice an unconscious echo of his own incredulous statement to Nyota.

“Yeah, dad! Ice cream is my _absolute favorite_.” 

All at once, the owner of the deep voice rounded the corner and sighed. “Alright, fine. Drop it in the cart, and you can eat some while we unpack.”

A gasp. “Really?! Oh thank you, thank you, I love you!” The girl -- Jo, Jim assumed -- scooped up a carton and skipped joyfully over to her father, who only then noticed the blonde watching them. His brow creased into what seemed to be familiar frown lines. 

He was average height, average build, and had a respectable amount of brown hair. He seemed to be 5 (6? 7?) more years Jim’s senior, and had an air of tiredness and exasperation. 

Jim just smiled, waved, and pivoted back toward those mini pies, sensing that the father was probably not in the mood for small talk (not that Jim was really that good with conversation that didn’t include flirting, anyway). 

Blueberry? No, definitely the coconut cream.

He was kinda cute, though.


End file.
